


Pray For The Moon To Give You Light

by monday_excarnate (Ellicit)



Category: Original Work, Tamlinate Accords-verse
Genre: "what if you trophy hunted trophy spouses" nausicaä said, Alternate History, Being Hunted, Class Dystopia, Collars, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Gender Utopia, Multi, Neopronouns, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn with Feelings, Sexy Bathtime, Shapeshifters - Freeform, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spanking, Weird Magical Rituals, Wergild but sexier, and then the worldbuilding attacked, dubcon, emotions? in /my/ erotica? it's more likely than you think, fae, i'm dreading the day when i have to sit down and conlang properly for this goddamn thing, it's sort of between those two things actually, purely in the form of a brief discussion so far
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellicit/pseuds/monday_excarnate
Summary: “Oh, Pip!” Fiona whooped and lifted Penelope clean off the ground, spinning her until she squeaked. “Gods above! If you pull this off, you’ll be the toast of Carterhaugh! And – you’re asking me on the hunt as witness?”—Or, In Which Due To A Stroke of Good Fortune and Admirable Skill, Lady Howell Captures, Breaks, and Trains A Wayward Fae, Thereby Edifying and Curing an Otherwise Potentially Notorious Criminal While at the Same Time Advancing Her Own Social Status and the Strength in Blood of Albion Nobility.
Relationships: Mortal half-fae noble/captured fox fae, Victorian noble lady/childhood companion, Victorian noble lady/trophy spouse
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. The Hunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work won't quite earn its rating until _next_ chapter, so skip ahead as you please. I think it's pretty sexy in its own way, though.

_The fox went out on a chilly night_

_Prayed for the moon to give them light_

_For they'd many a mile to go that night_

_Before they reached the town-o_

_–_ pre-Tamlinate folk song "The Fox and The Geese"

Lady Penelope Howell laid her pen down and gazed out the window at the clouds drifting across the star-strewn sky with a sigh of impatience. The latest medical advances from Venizia, normally a fertile source of inspiration for her attempts at alchemical romances, held little interest for her after the scent she’d caught not long after waking. Now if only–

A knock at her study door interrupted her leg’s nervous bouncing, and she leapt to open it, nearly sending her manuscript to the floor. “Fifi! Thank goodness you’re here. I’ve been going mad waiting.”

Fiona Crowe, heir to the neighboring estate, leaned in to kiss her packmate on the cheek. “And I’d been going mad with boredom. I think if I’d torn up one more pillow, my maid would’ve screamed. Now, what is it? Have you found another well-run public house for us to terrorize while we wait for news from the Wildcat’s Circle?”

“Oh, better than that, my dear Crowe. Far better.” Lady Howell’s eyes sparkled eagerly as a hungry grin crossed her face. “I caught a new trail on my post-breakfast run this evening. _Not_ a scent I was expecting, out here so far from court – oh, Fi, there’s no use dancing around it! There’s a _fox fae_ in my woods.”

“Oh, Pip!” Fiona whooped and lifted Penelope clean off the ground, spinning her until she squeaked. “Gods above! If you pull this off, you’ll be the toast of Carterhaugh! And – you’re asking me on the hunt as witness?”

“Yes! Yes, Fi, will you please, darling?”

Fiona barked out a “Ha!” and set Penelope on the desk to throw up her hands. “What do you take me for, a fool? a coward? Of course I will!”

Lady Howell clapped her hands and leaned forward, and it was some minutes before the two disentangled themselves.

* * *

The fox awoke lost, cold, and damp.

Desperately, vo tried to burrow deeper into the pile of leaves vo had collapsed into under the stark gaze of the sun, but veir shuddering only made it rustle all the more obviously. Vo gave up and wriggled out instead. Vo needed to keep moving.

That was when vo noticed the chill, and the bite of iron in the air.

Slinking from tree to tree, the fox wracked veir memory furiously for the moment vo had crossed to the Mortal Realms. Vo had been… chasing a pixmouse, yes, that was it, too small to be a meal but vo had been so _hungry_ , after days away from veir den-circle and no hope of finding shelter in another. The ring in veir ear would see to that, vo thought ruefully, pausing for a brief, guilty moment to scratch at it with veir back paw.

The portal had caught ven by surprise. A moment’s stumble over a log, into a circle that must have been left by some careless mycotelings after the night’s dance, and when vo had gotten to veir feet, the pale blue-white noon light filtering through clouds and trees had struck ven.

And now vo was trapped in mortal territory, surrounded by the stink of iron and the ever-so-subtly- _incorrect_ scent of human-wolf. Vo didn’t know where the borders of this… fiefdom? how and _why_ did mortals divide their lands again? were, exactly, but if vo could find a stream, could move cleverly and quietly enough to be gone before the mortal-nobles noticed, perhaps vo could survive to find a human city and lose veirself long enough to enact vengeance. 

These woods were not so different from the ones the fox knew. Vo could still hear the rustling of the small creatures in the undergrowth go silent as veir paw snapped a small stick, could still smell oak and ash and holly. Veir ears pricked up as the faint murmur of a stream reached ven, and a small spark of hope began to flicker behind veir ribs. Vo slipped around another large trunk, placing veir paws carefully, adjusting to the subtly different patterns of the mortal forest’s undergrowth.

A joyful howl from the direction of the fox’s temporary bed split the air.

All the fur along the fox’s spine stood up on end. Hope guttered and died, replaced by pounding fear and grim determination. Vo was faster and smarter than all the hounds vo knew. If vo could just make it to the water, then perhaps vo would have a chance despite the unfamiliar territory. 

The fox squeezed venself under a hedge, heading away from where the wolf-scent was strongest. Twigs caught at veir fur, and vo nipped at them impatiently; vo couldn’t afford to leave any of veirself behind for the wolves to pick up and use against ven. Hissing under veir breath at the thought of the ragged mess veir coat would be, the fox tensed for a sprint forward and then stopped short as another trail crossed their path. 

A mortal fox, marking its territory. Similar enough perhaps to confuse the surely-blunter noses of the wolves behind ven. The fox couldn’t stop veir hindquarters from twitching a bit in delight as vo turned to follow veir shape-cousin’s path. For a brief moment vo imagined following the trail all the way to a den, rolling in the scent of veir smaller mirror images and then turning them loose to confuse veir own spoor even further; but no, there wasn’t time or certainty enough for such tricks, not if the wolves were on veir track already.

Nervously, vo turned back towards the sound of water, which somehow seemed… farther away.

* * *

Lady Penelope’s tail lashed as she stalked through the woods, Fiona at her shoulder. They’d picked up the scent not long back, and nearly wasted time following an ordinary fox before Fiona’s circling had caught the true scent again. But the trail was becoming fresher and fresher, the wayward fae surely slowed down by its need to cover strange ground. In fact…

Penelope let out a huffing laugh as she realized the mistake the fox had made. In its haste to reach the stream ahead, it had failed to notice the slight but continuous rise in the ground. The stream wouldn’t save it. The ravine might even trap it.

She pulled herself back onto two legs just long enough to whisper her revelation to Fiona, who responded with a “then let’s get on with it” nudge to the back that nearly toppled Lady Howell. The pendant her elders had passed on to her with the keys to the estate went from lying heavily between her breasts to sitting snugly at the base of her neck as she dropped to all fours once again.

It was odd, she mused as she and her packmate weaved expertly through the trees, to hunt a fox in particular in solemn near-silence. No baying or howling, no stamping of horse hooves or ringing of horns – just the deep breathing of Crowe at her side and the pounding of her heart in her chest as she imagined the admiring – no, be honest, jealous – looks she’d get when she made her bow before the Queen with a wildcaught fae on the end of her leash.

She was so lost in thought that she nearly missed the flick of a bushy tail rounding a tree trunk in front of her. The panicked yip and scraping of pebbles as the fox scrambled away from the edge of the small cliff at the last minute, however, was unmistakable, and Penelope surged forward eagerly. She saw the fox’s eyes widen in the moonlight as it caught her scent, and then Fiona’s; licked her lips at the flickering of its gaze as it tried desperately to find any escape route; she reveled in the despairing tremble of its legs as she gathered her legs under her for a leap–

–and then something in the fox’s gaze snapped, and she found herself having to frantically check herself as it whirled faster than she’d thought possible, beautiful brush swirling saucily behind it, and sprung over the cliff into the stream below. And she could have sworn it _winked_ over its shoulder at her as it fell.

Penelope’s enraged howl sent a flock of ravens soaring up over the moon.

Well. There was no use risking a broken leg. She was done playing. Grimly, she swore to herself as she stalked along the top of the cliff: no more daydreaming until she’d caught the damned thing. The hunt was far from over; there weren’t many ways out of the ravine, after all.

With a flick of her head, she sent Fiona in the other direction to make a wide circle and, hopefully, pin the fox between the two of them. She might have to pull the creature down herself, but there was nothing in the rules that said the witness had to be under foot and following the same path every minute of the chase, as long as they were there in the end. Tactics were just as important as raw ability, after all.

* * *

_Mab’s blood-milking tits!_ The fox paddled desperately downstream, yelping every so often as veir nose or shoulder scraped against a rock. The mortal nobles had caught up to ven far faster than vo had expected, and vo could only hope they had given up, or would give up soon enough. Veir luck seemed to be against ven, but perhaps – just perhaps – it would turn.

Eventually, the stream became too shallow to swim, and the fox stumbled to the bank, barely taking the time to shake before continuing along it, lacking any better idea of a path. Vo did veir best to stick to the rocky areas of the bank, where the ground was wet enough and the pebbles large enough to hide any footprints, but veir pads quickly grew sore, and vo broke into a trot through the mud. At last the growing wave of fear building along veir spine broke and washed over ven, and vo turned to dash up the now much gentler slope of the shore – and came face to face with the wolf coming out of the trees.

There was no time to think, no time to freeze. The fox charged towards the startled wolf, dodging the instinctive snap of jaws with a nimbleness born of pure desperation, and slid through its legs, gaining ven a few seconds’ lead as the wolf disentangled its limbs. Only a few seconds, and then a howl rose from behind ven and was answered by another off to the right. The fox veered left, narrowly avoiding a collision with a bush.

This was nothing like the hunt-games vo’d played. No exhilaration of racing towards the burrow vo’d found the day before and was sure no one else knew of, only strange, hostile trees; no joyful honking from the cu sidhe or scream-barking from the other foxes, only the howls drawing ever closer, seeming to come from one side, and then another, so that the fox could only guess at the best way to run; no promise of acclaim or a friendly tussle at the end, only the cold certainty that to be caught would mean death – or worse, abject disgrace. 

Veir heart pounded as vo ran full tilt, squirming under hedge and leaping over rock. Twice, vo stumbled, coating veir tail and belly with muck, barely scrambling to veir feet in time to avoid the snapping teeth behind ven and put on a burst of speed spurred on by the memory of one of veir forest-mothers. _Don’t seek out the Mortal Realms with that curious snout, little one,_ she’d said, tapping the fox fondly on veir nose. _You’ll find no friends there if they hunt you. And if you want to keep that pride of yours, you’ll make them kill you true rather than collar you._

The fox’s paws hurt. Vo longed to stop and rest, to pull out the burrs tangled in veir tail, but every time vo slowed, thinking perhaps veir pursuers had fallen behind, the howl came again, or footfalls and hot breath on veir tail. Vo was panting hard now; how long had vo been running? An hour? Two? It felt like an eternity, and yet what little vo could see of the stars through the trees showed that they had hardly moved at all, and only in fixed lines across the sky, with none of the marking-steps and partner changes vo was used to following.

The howling had died away, but this brought no comfort – the fox’s sharp ears still caught the occasional snap of twig or rustle of branch as the wolf hunting ven bounded through the forest. Vo wanted to whimper but had no breath to spare; all the magic vo willed to ease veir passage through narrow hedges, to hide veir scent, seemed to gutter and die against the heat of the chase and the heaviness of the unyielding mortal soil. The trees were beginning to seem a better option than running until vo collapsed, but there was no time to change shape, and few with branches low enough to reach with a jump–

–and then vo was racing through the treeline and out, on to an exposed moor stretching away in the distance with no cover in sight. The fox whirled, intending to dash back to the relative safety of the forest, but it was too late; two wolves were emerging from the treeline, tongues lolling as they stalked forward. Vo turned and bolted once again in blind panic.

The outcome was predictable, if not completely inevitable. A minute, perhaps two, of the mad race under the unnervingly still stars and moon, the only sounds labored breathing and the squeak of a disturbed field mouse, and then a loose rock slipped underneath the fox’s weary paw, and vo’s stumble quickly became ven slamming to the ground with the weight of a wolf on veir back. Vo writhed, attempting to squirm free, but hands held ven tight as vo snarled up into the now-human face of veir captor – who, despite the sweat matting stray bits of long, curling hair to her forehead and the streaks of dirt across her cheeks, was a shockingly gorgeous woman with a sharp jaw, pointed nose, and piercing gold-brown eyes.

The fox snapped at the hands pinning ven to the ground, but the woman simply laughed, deep and merry, and knelt on the fox to give herself a free hand, with which she pulled a carved metal disc from around her neck. She pressed the disc between the fox’s teeth, seemingly uncaring of the scrapes the sharp fangs raked across her palm, and then wrapped her hand around the fox’s muzzle, holding it tightly shut while she made a complex gesture with the other.

The disc _burned_ and seemed to almost melt, liquid fire trickling down the fox’s throat even as vo whined desperately and thrashed harder against the wolf-noble’s unyielding limbs, pooling in the hollow of veir throat just above the collarbone. And then – then the popping of joints and a muffled scream broke the silence as the fox, to veir horror, began to shift forms entirely against veir will.

* * *

She was having the time of her life, Penelope decided as the fox fae’s body twisted underneath her, fur disappearing from the heart out until only the large ears, elegant tail, and black-stockinged paws were left. When she’d first caught the scent, she’d hardly dared hope for a successful hunt, and yet here she was, muscles aching but mind ablaze with possibilities. Everything she’d read about fae-hunting had emphasized the importance of keeping one’s quarry off-balance. What could be more unbalancing than to be trapped in a form with neither real fangs nor hands? What could be more evocative of the reality of no longer needing either, as befit a trophy? The pendant had responded beautifully to her desires.

The fae itself was a pretty, scruffy little thing; far larger than an ordinary mortal fox even on four legs, of course, but still shorter than Penelope, with a hint of softness to veir human shape that made her think veir body might take well to the sorts of rituals that would allow ven to bear a litter. Veir eyes flashed a pale – what was that color? – green, perhaps, in the moonlight. Veir hair was the same exhilarating red as the patches of fur on veir ears and tail that had escaped being covered in mud, cut mostly short but long enough on the crown that Penelope longed to bury her hands in it and pull the fae in for a kiss.

Alas, there was protocol to be observed first.

She looked up to see Fiona stepping forward, face still flushed and teeth bared in a wild smile.

“I, Fiona of the house of Crowe, have witnessed this Hunt in accordance with the law of this realm, and now stand forward to witness its end. Lady Howell, declare your intent.”

Penelope swallowed, her heart beating with the thrill of speaking the words she’d whispered to herself so many times, out here in the dark with moon and moor and breeze and Fiona, rather than merely her reflection. “I, Penelope of the house of Howell, declare with the forest and hill and sky as my witnesses that the one I hold set foot on these lands of mine without declaration or petition, and has thus become my lawful prey. I have pulled ven down and held ven through veir changing. Upon yielding, vo will become my sp– my _property,_ to do with as I please.” Though she’d stumbled over the less-practiced formulation, the power it implied, and the power she felt flowing through her as she knelt over her prey, sent a little shock through her, and she felt certain parts of herself begin to become visibly excited. “If vo does not yield, I am yet owed veir life for veir trespass in blood or gold.”

At this, the fox froze. She could see the calculation in veir eyes. Leaning down, she whispered into veir twitching ear, “Don’t you dare try to trick me. I see how they marked you, darling creature. Even if you could get word to your realm, there’s no blood-price coming to get you out of this.”

The fox fae thrashed, but she held on, and veir struggles subsided into an exhausted panting. Penelope raised an eyebrow and raised her voice once again. “Therefore I ask once, and once only: do you yield?”

The whole forest seemed to hold its breath with Penelope as the fox bared veir fangs, the expression a bit odd on a human-like face, and for a moment she felt the terror of the certainty that vo would refuse, that she’d have to follow through on her threat to close her jaws around veir throat–

–and then, ever so slowly, vo nodded, and tipped veir head back to expose veir neck.

“Out loud,” Penelope commanded, softly, breathlessly, though all she wanted to do was to bury her face into that soft curve.

Another long moment. When vo finally spoke, veir voice was a coarse tenor, slightly higher than Penelope had expected. “...I yield.”

Penelope almost howled in joy then, but held on to her dignity by a thread as she looked to Fiona, who had to stop herself from bouncing and clear her throat before she nodded. “Penelope of house Howell, your prey has yielded; mark your property.”

Eagerly, Penelope ripped open the pad of her left thumb, then bit down hard just under the fox fae’s collarbone. The fox gasped and twitched underneath her, and a short whine escaped ven. Green trickled down to mingle with red on her thumb, and she brushed it firmly across the fae’s forehead and down veir nose and lips, and felt the contract settle into place, a welcome weight in the muscles of her shoulders and down her spine.

Now, _now_ she could howl.

* * *

The long grass of the moor prickled against the back of the nameless fox’s head and neck; veir skin seemed shockingly sensitive after so long spent in fur, and vo ground veir head into the dirt in discomfort as the triumphant howl rang out above ven. Again and again the fox struggled to pull veir glamour around venself. Vo needed to feel the comforting weight of the bluestone bands around veir biceps, the necklace of teeth veir defeated opponents had pulled laughingly from their mouths, the elaborately patterned wrap vo wore when on two legs in a desultory nod to Court ideas of fashion; but the tang of iron in veir throat and nose dulled veir magic just as effectively and mercilessly as the contract binding ven forced ven into the shape veir captor desired. 

_Coward,_ the fox cursed venself. A profound sense of nakedness, of vulnerability unlike any vo had previously felt, was beginning to settle into bones and muscles twisted and frozen into a shape usually passed through in a matter of seconds. _You… you spineless, stupid excuse for a fox!_ Vo could taste the bitter sting of promises made to venself – promises every fox made, promises to slide out of every trap and always come out on top, to get the best of everyone or thing that crossed one’s path – broken on the back of veir tongue. Helplessness skimmed lightly over veir skin with the night breeze, brushing veir exposed neck and belly, and the fox shivered. Desperately, vo tried to ignore how the weight and warmth of the wolf-human on top of them, the press of her skin against veirs, made veir heart pound in veir ears just as loudly as it had when her teeth had been snapping at veir tail, in favor of silently scourging venself. The wolf… no, _Penelope Howell_ had plainly wanted veir life, not veir lifesblood. Death would have been a bittersweet kind of victory.

Then the witness, the one who had called herself Crowe, crouched next to the fox, her eager gaze piercing through veir self-recrimination. “Oh, well done, Pip. Mind if I take a closer look?”

“Not in the slightest, my dear Fiona.” Howell shifted positions fluidly. The fox flushed as she moved to pin veir front paws and rest veir head against her thighs, exposing ven to Crowe’s piercing gaze. Instinctively, vo curled veir exhausted legs upwards – to no avail. Veir trembling muscles offered little resistance to Crowe’s firm grip spreading veir knees. Her eyes raked up and down veir body, and the fox shivered as though physically touched, and then she _did_ touch ven, trailing her fingertips over veir nipples and along veir ribs, and the fox could not stop venself from squirming and gasping. Humiliation reddened veir face and churned in veir stomach and met arousal coming from the other direction, the two heightening each other like a pair of squirrels chasing their tails up a tree.

Crowe laughed, then raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you caught one that’s got a sword _and_ a sheathe already, Pip, you lucky thing. Though it’s more of a dagger, really, you might need to do some forging before you try getting pups out of it.”

The fox could feel Howell’s deep sigh against veir back. “I haven’t the time to carry _one_ child, let alone raise a _litter_ , Fifi. You know I don’t, not with my writing and this damn fool expedition pulling so many people up North and leaving us all short-handed.”

Crowe looked alarmed. “But– that means–”

“I was worried too, but there’s a _loophole_ , darling!” Howell’s voice was smug. “Remember it’s worded _property_ when you catch a fae? Legally speaking, this adorable little fox’s body is mine, and any pups I get on ven are therefore just as much heirs of my body as if I bore them myself, if I want them to be.”

The fox made a strangled noise; vo could feel the implications of most of this slipping by ven, but one conclusion had already had its neck broken and the meat pulled from its bones: the wolf planned to make ven suffer what vo had always scoffed at as the fundamental _imposition_ of bearing a litter, and the binding vo had more or less willingly submitted to meant that vo _had no choice in the matter._ Before vo could really digest this new humiliation, Crowe was reaching towards veir face, pressing veir mouth open with a thumb, and in a wave of instinct and fury the fox obligingly bared veir teeth and _bit._

Too slow. Crowe snatched her hand back with a startled yelp. Veir teeth closed on nothing with a sharp _click_ just before the _crack_ of Howell’s hand against the fox’s cheek split the air, knocking veir head to the side. The fox’s snarl quickly transformed into a whine, even as the pain sent a rush through veir body.

“Unacceptable,” Howell said in a low voice. She yanked the fox’s head back, forcing ven to bare veir neck and confront her expression of ice-cold fury. “You have _yielded_ to me. You will _not_ attack my closest friend, to whom I have given _permission_ to touch and use you exactly as is my own right. The only thing stopping me from punishing you further is a sense of _compassion_ , do you understand? In fact, some would say I am being shockingly lenient.”

The fox’s instinctive growl of discontent faltered under the weight of Howell’s regard and the binding vo could feel pressing against veir mind. Submissively, vo looked away, unable to bear the feeling of being known so thoroughly.

“Ah-ah-ah. _Look_ at me. _Do you understand?_ ”

With the last shreds of veir willpower, the fox dragged veir gaze back to Howell’s hard cassilite eyes and the single brow she had raised in pointed demand. Cheeks burning with shame, the fox nodded.

“Good. Now _show_ me.” Howell nodded permission to Crowe, who seemed to have shaken off any wariness in a matter of minutes. The fox could only whimper and close veir eyes as veir lips were pulled back, the sharpness of veir fangs tested, and fingers – both Crowe’s and Howell’s by the feel – pushed into veir mouth deep enough to see how much ven could take before gagging and coughing.

And then all at once the inspection was complete, and the hand of Howell’s not occupied with pinning the fox’s wrists was petting veir head and scratching behind veir ears, and Howell was _cooing_ and calling ven a _good little darling_. Startled, the fox opened veir eyes to see Howell smiling fondly at ven. The fox found venself relaxing into the gentle strokes before vo caught venself and looked away with a huff.

Perhaps choosing death would have been easier had their captor not been so damned beautiful _._

“Right, up you get then.” The wolf’s grin split her face like a knife, and the fox yelped as vo was unceremoniously pulled upwards and swung onto her shoulders. “You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?”

Crowe snorted delightedly as she fell into step with Howell. “I don’t envy you the task of getting that one in the bath, Pip.”

Howell laughed, deep but quiet, her long even strides barely jostling her prey. The fox huffed, lip curling upwards to show a single fang. Unfortunately for ven, even that tiny display of defiance caught Howell’s attention, and she turned her head to murmur in veir ear, “None of that, little creature.” Her grip tightened painfully around the fox’s still-furred wrists and ankles. “Remember, you’re mine now.”

The fox felt veir whole body flush with… mortification, true, but also a nameless ache at the idea of belonging somewhere again, though the idea of belonging to a mortal was anathema to everything vo’d been taught. Vo pushed it down. Veir thoughts raced. Perhaps there was still a way to salvage the situation, if vo kept veir head down and veir senses open.

Vo rested veir head awkwardly on veir paws, intending to gnaw on the bones of a few applicable schemes, but instead found their eyes drooping as veir body, traitorous thing that it was, made its exhaustion known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sighs] And here I am, back on my bullshit. As always, let me know if I missed an important tag or anything.
> 
>  _Cassilite_ is a rare mineral from which tin ore is often extracted. It's a very pretty shade of brown.
> 
>  _Bluestone_ can refer to multiple kinds of granite or other stones, but in this case is actually intended in its alchemical meaning, referring to copper(II) sulphate pentahydrate.


	2. The Bath

On any other night the walk back to the manor might have been tedious. Tonight, the chill in the ground and the clinging fog did nothing to dampen Penelope’s high spirits. She had had the fox draped over her shoulders and the glow of victory both to keep her warm, and she intended to enjoy every second.

A few steps ahead of her, Fiona flung the door into the kitchen open, first startling and then mildly scandalizing the staff with her presence, particularly the scullery maid, who was newly arrived from Carterhaugh and unused to the ways of country nobles on their own estates. A hush fell as Penelope stepped into the light and the various gathered mortals registered the presence of a _real live fae._ Penelope had to fight back a smile at the expressions of shock and dawning pride on the faces in front of her. The gossip mill, she could see, would be _well_ on its way by next midnight.

“Terribly sorry,” she said, and with great force of will held back a smirk in favor of arranging her face in an attempt to hit the happy medium between breezy indifference and the gravitas required by noblesse oblige. “Didn’t want to risk the vestibule carpet. Someone ought to bother the salamanders, I’ll be drawing a bath in a moment.”

She glanced over at her burden’s face as Fiona whistled a cheerful tune in time with their sweeping departure from the servants’ halls and up the stairs. The fox was staring glassily ahead, clearly too exhausted to think and too on edge to sleep. Giving in to her impulses, Penelope reached up a hand to stroke the fox’s ears, and thrilled at both the way vo stiffened and the expression of guilty pleasure mixed with furious humiliation that twisted the corners of veir mouth.

Her attention was only pulled away by a truly impressive and entirely unrepentant yawn from Fiona. “I’m for bed, Pip – assuming you can handle your prize on your own?”

“Of course I can.” Penelope snorted, feigning offense. “You’ll just scare the poor thing if you keep hanging around, and I’d rather break it in _gently_.”

Fiona chuckled and bumped Penelope’s shoulder with her own. “You just want to have ven all to yourself for a while! Not that I _blame_ you in the slightest, darling – ow!”

Penelope could only hold her look of innocence for a moment or two before she had to laugh at Fiona’s indignant rubbing of her assaulted hindquarters. “Go on, stop teasing and get that adorable arse of yours to bed, then.”

“Oh, all _right._ Have fun, darling.” And with a quick kiss, Fiona was off down the hall. Penelope watched her go for a moment with a fond smile – but only for a moment. 

The fire-glass tiles on the floor of the bath warmed quickly under Penelope’s feet as she padded over to the taps and stepped into the tub, still carrying the fox fae, who seemed a bit more alert now that vo was in a room with bright lamps and presumably unfamiliar devices. A touch to the faucets, and in seconds a gentle, warm rain was cascading over both Penelope and her prize, washing away the dirt and sweat of the chase. She sighed happily and bent to set her trophy on the floor of the tub. The fox, clearly off-put by the unfamiliar texture, scrabbled against the smooth glazing, twisting and turning and making a frankly unpleasant noise until Penelope quelled veir futile efforts with a look and a disapproving _tsk_.

“We really will have to trim those claws of yours,” she mused as she ran a soapy cloth lightly over herself, and couldn’t resist an extra stroke or two to her cock at the way the fae’s face flushed. “First, though… I’m not having you track any more filth into either the trophy room or my bed, so I’ll have to bathe you. I don’t think you’re quite ready to have just anyone put their hands all over you… _yet.”_

* * *

The warm water, by the time it reached vo, smelled not just of soap and a hint of brimstone but also very firmly of Lady Howell – a mix that the fox found uncomfortably soothing. Vo could feel the tendrils of the spell vo’d swallowed pushing gently against the back of veir mind, insisting that this was right, that vo was meant to be in this place of strange artifice and unfamiliar scents, that vo was in fact meant to be anywhere veir _mistress_ wanted ven.

And then, as Lady Howell bent to take hold of veir scruff, the full import of “have to bathe you” struck ven. This would not be the brief, cool appraisal they had already been subjected to. This would be… _intimate._ A bolt of terror-fueled strength overwhelmed the questing spell-hooks and the slippery stone-stuff of the basin alike as the fae thrashed and squirmed and yowled and finally got a paw over the edge–

\--only to be yanked firmly back by veir tail even as the sigil at veir throat pulsed and contracted. The fox landed hard on the floor of the bath. Curled into a ball, vo looked up into the furious eyes of Lady Howell.

“I realize that you are as yet unused to your new position,” she growled at a pitch that made the hair stand on end down the fox’s spine. “I realize it will take time for you to learn to behave in an _appropriate_ manner. _Nevertheless_ , I would expect even a dirty little thing like you to know when to save your strength, and save both of us time – but clearly you’ve forgotten just who hunted whom.”

The fox whimpered and lowered veir gaze submissively, only for Lady Howell to yank ven’s chin upwards. “ _Look_ at me when I’m talking to you, _pet_.”

“B-but–” the fox began to protest, and was cut off with a press of a finger to veir lips.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re _very_ skilled at all the little ways wild things like you show their bellies, so to speak,” Howell said dryly, “but here in _civilization,_ one doesn’t _hide_ or flinch away from correction. So: you will look at me when I’m speaking unless I instruct otherwise, so that I know you’re paying _attention._ Or else there will be consequences. Is that clear?”

The fox nodded. A raised eyebrow from Lady Howell, and vo found veir voice just long enough to whisper “Yes.”

“Yes _what?_ ”

“Yes… Mistress,” the fox choked out, and couldn’t stop venself from hiding veir face in shame for a brief moment.

Lady Howell nodded in satisfaction even as she forced the fox’s chin upwards once more. “Good. Now turn around and raise that pretty tail of yours.”

Shivering, close to tears, the fox complied – did the Lady truly mean to… take ven… so soon? It was almost a relief when, rather than her weight on veir back, the fox felt the sharp crack and sting of her hand against veir posterior.

“Count for me. Twenty for attempting to get away from a bath, five for looking away.”

The fox stuttered out the numbers, one for each open-palmed hit, veir tail pulled painfully up in a way that made ven feel more exposed than vo had ever before. Veir asscheeks stung, then burned; the pain encompassed veir thoughts and sank into veir bones, making veir limbs shake and veir cock begin, embarrassingly, to stiffen. Each hit drew a choked whimper from veir throat, each one lingering longer and longer until at last vo was making a low, continuous whine. Any thought of struggle, of escape, was subsumed in the sensation and the quiet almost-subconscious whisper that vo deserved this – that the punishment was just, and correct, and would prevent the awful, deeper pain of seeing disappointment on veir Mistress’ face.

And then it was over. And Lady Howell – Mistress, the fox admitted grudgingly – was cradling ven in her arms, warm water still running over both of them.

“Are you ready now, pretty creature?” she asked softly, and the fox could do naught else but nod, and then wince, and whisper “yes, Mistress.” 

Lady Howell stroked the fox’s ears soothingly, and then set ven down once more, but kept a hand on veir back as she reached for the soap. The fox shifted uneasily, caught between leaning into the touch or exercising the last bit of defiance allowed to ven. But the heat was seeping from the water into veir skin, and the Lady’s hands slipped smoothly over and pressed deliciously into veir sore muscles, and the fox could not help but let out a low moan of pleasure, at which veir Mistress smiled. 

“Turn over, darling.” Ass still stinging, the fox obeyed, curling up into a shy ball which she pried gently apart, pushing veir limbs away from veir sensitive belly. Her hands massaged soap into veir stomach and swirled around veir nipples, sending little lightning bolts into the fox’s groin and making ven twitch and try to bite back veir whines, and at last brushed over veir half-hard cock. The fox, to veir shame, couldn’t stop venself from bucking up into her touch.

Howell giggled softly. “This is mine now,” she cooed, rubbing her thumb in featherlight circles around the sensitive flesh. “And maybe I’ll even ride it every so often. Just to make sure you really understand your place. But for now… we just have to make sure you’re clean.”

The fox stared helplessly up into her wide, flashing eyes as she slipped a hand between veir legs. Vo squirmed as she explored veir inner thighs, the skin to either side of the dripping slit behind veir balls, further back and then up veir chest and sides and back down, getting soap into all veir delicate nooks and crannies, until even the fox venself could no longer tell whether the uncontrollable motion of veir hips was an attempt at escape or at coaxing just a bit more friction in just the right spot.

And then she pulled away. Briefly, but long enough for the fox to whine pleadingly until she tapped veir side and gestured for ven to flip over once again. This time, the fox could feel veir tail trying to curl up over veir back, and forced the traitorous thing down between veir legs instead.

“We’ll have to do some testing to see which potions your fur likes best,” Mistress mused. Her mere touch melted away a tiny bit of the tension between the fox’s shoulder blades. Her hands, now coated in a slippery gel that smelled strongly of salt and some sharp, sour fruit, ran through veir hair and the fur on veir ears and paws and tail – at first softly, with merely her fingertips, then curling in to scratch gently with her nails, which were now much shorter but still sturdy and long enough to hurt if she had wished – a fact of which the fox was not unaware, but that awareness was drowning under the discovery of the sheer bliss that, apparently, having the base of one’s tail scritched could bring. The scent grew stronger as the Lady combed her hands through the fox’s hair repeatedly. Veir nose twitched.

The fox sneezed – and jumped, startled out of a reverie.

The Lady laughed delightedly and planted a kiss on veir nose. Offended, the fox dropped into a sulky crouch.

“There, there, pretty thing,” veir Mistress soothed, guiding ven under the spray of water and rubbing the soap out of veir fur and away from veir skin. “You’re simply adorable when you’re off guard, is all. You’ll make _such_ a lovely trophy once you’re cleaned up and trained.”

The fox felt venself go hot with embarrassment and something else that felt disturbingly like pride. It had been a long time since anyone had used the word “adorable” or its ilk to describe ven, and vo would have dismissed it as condescension had it not been delivered with such a tone of… _want_.

Attempting to sort this out occupied ven all through being helped out of the bath, and toweled off briskly, and stood up on two legs. The fox wobbled for a moment, off-balance and unused to the distinct feeling that vo was walking solely on the balls of veir feet, but caught venself and adjusted quickly.

“Now. Are you going to be good and walk quietly with me?” Lady Howell raised an eyebrow. “Or ought I pick you up and carry you over a few extra thresholds, just to be safe?”

The fox swallowed, glanced away, remembered the pain of not half an hour before and glanced back shyly. “...I’ll walk.”

“You’ll walk, _what?_ ”

“I’ll walk… mistress.”

“ _Good_ fox. Speak properly, or you’ll lose the privilege. Now–” a hand raking through the fox’s hair and then down to the small of veir back– “follow me.”

* * *

The trophy room, with its gleaming dark wood floors and elaborately carved furniture, its high frosted glass windows and rich draperies, was intimately familiar to Penelope. Her own sires had spent much of their time here, especially once Penelope was well out of the nursery and had announced that she would debut to the Court as a hunter. And as tradition dictated, she had redecorated according to her own tastes upon her ascension to head of the Howell family. Nevertheless, walking in with a trophy – _her_ trophy – on her arm lent a fresh perspective to the space. The drapes, for example, were entirely the wrong color to set red fur and green eyes off to best advantage, and would have to be changed as fast as mortally possible.

But there would be time for redecoration later. Now was time for a different sort of aesthetic decision.

Penelope pulled the delicately inlaid box reverently from its shelf and ran her hands over the contents. It had to be the right size, of course, or close enough for the night; it couldn’t clash too terribly with red.

Ah. _That_ one.

She turned, a soft smile on her face. “Let’s see if this fits, darling.”

* * *

_Collars._

The pounding, sick fear that had almost been erased by the bath gripped the fox’s heart once again. This was it, then; this was almost the last chance to run, and had vo struggled? had vo tried to talk veir way out? had vo tried to twist and turn and slip from the trap?

Not enough. Too little, too late.

Because the truth was the fox wanted it. The truth was the fox was tired of running, of not belonging, of not knowing who vo was, and now... 

How much could it hurt to play along for one night? To pretend that this was a gift and not another cut to veir pride?

The fox swallowed and said nothing as the supple leather fastened around veir neck.

It fit perfectly.

“Now, you have a choice, darling. You may sleep here; or…” Lady Howell took a deep breath, and the fox realized suddenly how _young_ she seemed, for all her power and (self-assurance) arrogance and (yearning, passion) ambition. “... you may share my bed.”

The sigil was pounding happily against veir throat, and veir skin ached for her touch, and the fox for all veir strategy could not imagine another path, even as vo ducked veir head and then looked up again with calculated shyness.

“Your bed, please. ...Mistress.”

* * *

The bed was softer than any forest den. And despite the thin silver cuffs and chains wrapped around the fox’s paws, it held precisely the right amount of heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7000 words in and they've barely fucked! Fuck this, I'm adding "Slow Burn" to the tags. This is what you get when your brain can't let go of things like "worldbuilding" and "character development", yall.
> 
> Foxes, generally speaking, only raise their tails when they are about to be mounted.


End file.
